


I Sing (but only to your corpse)

by IamtheHEROoftheworld



Series: The-101-Ways-That-Nico-di-Angelo-Could've-Lived [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamtheHEROoftheworld/pseuds/IamtheHEROoftheworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It continues. Around and around, it never stops. What can he do? </p><p>Nothing. That's what.</p><p>He's a puppet, dangling perilously on four flimsy strings, played by Fate itself. With every day, every breath, he just spun deeper into the painting of a masochist.</p><p>He was fine with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Sing (but only to your corpse)

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize deeply if my level of grammar and/or sentence structure does not confront your expectations of a true author. I am new to this site, but I will try my best.
> 
> For my fans (LOVE YOU ALL!!!).
> 
> This was a random story I had gotten inspiration from a devious dream I had only a few weeks ago. Never could get it out of my head.

**BADUM.** **  
**

His heartbeat.

**BADUM.  
**

It should've ended. It should've been the end of his breath.

Of his heart.

Of his thoughts.

But it wasn't.

Mentally, he cursed himself, wanting the walls to open, to swallow him whole.

But it didn't.

**BADUM.** **  
**

And he didn't die. 

"It all symbolizes something, _il mio frattellino_ ," was all that Bianca said. She was seven at the time.

**BADUM.  
**

He didn't know what she meant back then, he didn't have an assumption now.

The stillness of the air, he realised, were polar opposites with his inner self; a turmoil of dark, angry, disruptive emotions and thoughts whrled through him as he dangles perilously alfway down the tunnel, hanging lierally by the tips of his scarred fingers, which are gripping desperately on the hilt of a nightmare-black sword.

**BADUM.  
**

He could've pulled it out, could've followed his own thoughts instead. 

His body was broken, taken on the blows of the world. 

**BADUM.** **  
**

His mind was even worse. 

**BADUM.  
**

It had begun like every 10-year old's was; innocent, but still complex. Now it corrupted, a rotting organ in an equally rotting corpse.

**BADUM.  
**

He doesn't understand how. If humans were so predictable, if their neo cortex and their sense of reasoning is so... _evolved_ , why couldn't they free themselves? Why did they have to rely on others to do it for them?

Because...

**BADUM.  
**

Because. 

Ignorance is bliss. 

Yes. It was.

**BADUM.** **  
**

He knows death is an escape, death is ignorance; is bliss. 

It makes sense; the son of the ruler of Death dying a suitable death in the deepest parts of Hell. Alongside demons, and monsters, and gods-knew-what else. 

**BADUM.  
**

Somewhere, in the corners of his almost-unconsious mind, a small immature part of him laughs at his non-intended pun. 

**BADUM.  
**

Not the kind of laugh he does now, to throw people off his track, to make them ignore him.

A completely intentional one. Full of happiness and bittersweet memories and...and sorrow.

Yes.

There was just the hint of sorrow. 

**BADUM.** **  
**

Something warm trickles down his forearm. He looks up and sees a dark liquid soaking into his Aviator jacket sleeve. 

Blood.

**BADUM.  
**

He trails his eyes up to his left hand, and spies the source; his fingers are wrapped around the sword. Not the hilt, no. The actual blade. The sharp edges were cutting into his knuckles. 

**BADUM.  
**

He can't feel it. Just numbness. 

And then,

And then.

**BADUM.  
**

It explodes inside; his mother and him sitting and reading a book together-

**BADUM.  
**

-his sister and him, playing in a tiny backyard, laughing their heads off, Percy smiling-

**BADUM.  
**

-looking down at him with such pride, Annabeth praising him how miracoulesly smart he is, Jason-

**BADUM.  
**

-hugging him, rubbing soothing circles into his back, the Argo 2nd crew grinning and laughing...

Laughing. With him.

Not at him.

**BADUM.**

He let the brief euphoria take over him. He laughs, out loud, and he doesn't care about the taste of the mixture of blood and tears that pools inside his mouth. 

**BADU-  
**

And then the grief is gone.

The burden dissapates into a thousand white and black and grey ashes, and he watches them through his wet eyelashes.

He isn't grabbing them anymore.

He just lets them go. 

Nico di Angelo lets go of his sword hilt, falling nto darkness below.

But he doesn't care. A few final moments of life, just before he is consumed by that darkness...

...he smiles.

And then there was silence. 

 


End file.
